


the prerogative (to have a little fun)

by gettingby



Category: Carry On Series - Rainbow Rowell
Genre: F/F, Fem!Simon, Fluff, Getting Together, M/M, baz is a useless lesbian, fem!Baz, fem!SnowBaz, happy early pride month ya filthy animals, i wrote this in two hours on my phone when i was supposed to be moving, shania twain - Freeform, simon is a tragic bisexual, spell gone wrong
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-26
Updated: 2020-05-26
Packaged: 2021-03-03 06:19:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,670
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24380107
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gettingby/pseuds/gettingby
Summary: Simon has Shania Twain stuck in his head. He accidentally turns himself and Baz into girls and crisis ensues.
Relationships: Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch/Simon Snow
Comments: 12
Kudos: 144





	the prerogative (to have a little fun)

**Author's Note:**

> as a note - I am cis and I tried my darndest to not be an asshole with this. i wrote this two hours ago and no one trans/nb has read it. i'm trying to keep in mind how baz and simon would think of their own gender but PLEASE do not hesitate to call me out if you have opinions/think I can improve something in this!
> 
> PSA: gender =/= sex and chromosomes =/= gender or sex
> 
> also, just a general warning if gender stuff triggers you
> 
> love you all & happy early pride month

**Simon**

Ever since I spent last weekend at the Bunces’, listening to Professor Bunce’s weird old music, I’ve had one song stuck in my head on repeat. 

_Man, I feel like a woman!_

It’s infuriatingly catchy. It just kind of rattles around in my head when I’m trying to do my homework. The only way I get a respite and can actually focus is if I let it out a bit. Start humming.

I’ve been humming on and off while working on my Magic Words essay, stopping only when Baz glares or snaps at me. I can tell he’s getting more and more wound up the longer this goes on. Because I’m a tit, and he deserves it, that just makes me want to do it more.

I shove my laptop away and turn around, just singing at him (poorly and off key).

He growls and turns around, and I’ve never been more grateful for the Anathema than now, because his eyes spell bloody murder.

“Oh, oh, oh, get in the action,”

“Snow if you don’t shut the fuck up-“

“Feel the attraction,”

“I will spell you, you goddamn nightmare,”

“Color my hair! Do what I dare!”

“I don’t care if Possibelf says I’ll get suspended this time,”

“Oh, oh, oh, I wanna be free, to feel the way I feel,”

“That’s it. **Cat got your** -“

“ **_Man, I feel like a woman!”_ **

All of a sudden, sparks are flying and a cloud of smoke is all around us. There’s a nauseating moment where I think I might have blown Baz up like I do when the Humdrum attacks, but then the smoke clears and standing in it, coughing, is Baz.

Or. Well. Kind of Baz.

He looks a bit like Baz and Fiona Pitch and the portrait of Headmistress Pitch all mixed together. His hair is now down to his waist, falling in sleek, shiny waves. His nose is still long and crooked, but his chin is narrower and his lips are fuller, emphasizing his natural pout. His eyes are gray and blazing and droopy, framed by long, curving lashes, and-

Holy fuck, Baz is fit.

I mean, I knew that Baz was fit. I thought about it a lot, how jealous I was of his long legs and his muscular football thighs and his narrow hips and taut chest. But, well. I’ve had a long time to get used to how maddenly good-looking he is. It just makes him more of a git.

Unfortunately, this development is making me reconsider why I find Baz so infuriating in the first place.

**Baz**

Simon Snow is a woman.

He still looks a lot like himself, just with the planes of his face rounded out a bit. His hair tumbles to his shoulders in golden ringlets that I desperately want to run my fingers through. His eyes are impossibly blue and heinously wide. His shoulders are still broad, his body still muscled, but with curves and softness in all the perfect places.

Holy fuck, I hate myself. I thought one sexuality crisis was enough for a lifetime.

Then I glance down at myself and see that his spell has hit both of us.

So I guess I’m not any less gay than I thought.

Simon Snow has turned me into a raging lesbian.

**Simon**

I think my heart is pounding out of my chest. I want to kiss Baz. Like, I really really want to kiss Baz. That’s weird, right? That’s not a normal response to seeing your roommate and archnemesis turn into a girl. Even an impossibly fit one. There’s plenty of pretty girls at Watford, but I’ve never felt the burning and uncontrollable desire to jump them. Not even Agatha, who is probably the most beautiful of them all, not to mention my literal girlfriend.

I feel vaguely guilty for having these thoughts about Baz when I have Agatha, but I rationalize it to myself that they’ll probably go away once we reverse this damn spell. And if we don’t reverse it- well, I’ve never thought about it, but I’m pretty sure Agatha isn’t gay, so it wouldn’t work out between us anyway. (That’s what I tell myself. Because I can’t take my eyes off Baz.) (Also, I just remembered that we broke up again on Friday, before she went home for Easter.)

**Baz**

I should grab my wand and try to reverse this infernal spell, but I’m frozen in place by the way Simon Snow is looking at me. Like he wants to devour me. His eyes have all the same intensity as when we fight, but now they can’t stop roving across my face, then down my body, then further down my body, then guiltily snapping back to my face. He turns his neck a little and I realize that Simon Snow is trying to check out my arse in the mirror. He’s getting progressively redder with each circuit he makes.

I briefly consider setting myself on fire and taking the entirety of Watford with me. I knew Simon was straight. But honestly, that seemed to be the least of our obstacles, considering the whole sworn enemies and destined to kill one another thing.

I didn’t realize that I was just an X chromosome away from reenacting the world’s most bizarre Romeo and Juliet scenario.

Finally, I manage to get it together enough to snarl “What in bloody Morgana’s name did you _do,_ Snow,” and grab my wand. I try _As you were_ and every other reversing spell I can think of, but they don’t work. We might have to go ask the professors for help. I’d like to avoid that as much as possible.

I am a bit curious, though, so I walk over to the full length mirror by my wardrobe and appraise myself. I don’t expect my heart to twist the way it does.

I look like my mother. Tall and thin, with long dark hair and full lips. Like she looked in her wedding robes. I want to reach into the mirror and touch her. I want to take a selfie. I want to cry.

These are all bizarre thoughts to have while looking at your reflection in the mirror.

I’m kind of jealous that I’m not her daughter instead of her son. That I can’t carry myself around the world like the second coming of Natasha Pitch. But I push that thought out of my mind. At least I basically look like a male version of my mother, and that knowledge sits warm in my belly.

Simon finally sighs and flops down on his bed, face in his hands. “Okay. What are we going to do?”

I have no idea.

“Go to the library, I suppose,” I reply, even though the thought makes me cringe. I guess it shouldn’t. Honestly, people might just think that we’re someone’s girlfriend or sister here for a visit. Except for the fact that we still look blindingly like ourselves.

“We could have asked Penny to come up and help us,” Snow says, “But she’s visiting her family for Easter.”

I don’t bother to point out that Bunce shouldn’t be coming to our room in the first place. (I have to pretend I’m not a vampire and can’t smell her sitting on my bed.) “What about the goatherd?”

“Ebb?” Simon asks. “Er, I guess? I mean she’s pretty powerful and she’s been here a long time. She might know something. Plus she’s not likely to be as weird about it as everyone else.” He stands up, dusting off his trousers. They’re too big in the crotch and stretch obscenely over his hips and thighs.

I nod and head towards the door. I also want to go to Ebb because I’m pretty sure she’s a lesbian. And I feel like I need some guidance, even if this is only going to be for a few hours. Someone to stop me from just going in on Simon while he’s still looking at me that way, enjoy a few hours of bliss before he comes to his senses and puts his sword through my chest. Or, more likely, pretends like it never happened and tramples my heart into a million pieces.

So yes. We go see the goatherd.

**Simon**

Ebb’s eyes are like saucers when she catches sight of Baz and me walking up the path to her cottage. “Mistress Pitch!” she shouts, running towards us with tears streaming down her face. She’s about to throw herself into Baz’s unwilling arms when I intercept her. I hadn’t thought about this, the fact that Baz apparently looks like a replica of his dead mother, and that Ebb bursts into tears at the mere thought of the people she’s lost.

But in for a penny, in for a pound. I rub my hands soothingly down her arms. “It’s just us, Ebb. Simon and Baz? Er, Simon Snow and Baz Pitch?”

“Oh!” she exclaims, turning slightly pink. “Well, come in for tea, boys. Er, girls?”

“Boys is fine,” Baz and I say at the same time.

We squeeze into her cottage and take a seat on the couch in front of the telly while Ebb fusses around with the tea kettle and biscuits. I’m embarrassingly aware of the extra space my hips and thighs are taking up. (I also had to put on two undershirts to hide my nipples in my uniform shirt, and cross my arms over my chest as Baz and I went down the stairs. I suddenly have a lot more sympathy for what Penny goes through on a daily basis.)

(Baz, infuriatingly, has small perky breasts that stay firm and high when he goes down the steps. I would know - I looked at them a lot on the way here. When I wasn’t looking at his arse.)

Ebb hands us each a cuppa and sits down on the armchair. “So, boys. What happened?”

I speak before Baz can give a version of events that makes me look like more of an imbecile than I already seem.

“I was singing a song. You know, the one by Shania Twain? Man, I feel like a woman?” I whisper, still afraid of the words. (Even though I’m not sure how I could muck things up any more, considering.)

Ebb nods.

“Yeah, so it was really annoying Baz, so then I started singing louder. And then he tried to spell me with _cat got your tongue_ and I think my magic just flared up, but I was still singing, and then. Boom. This.”

Ebb nods. “Well, we did play a lot of pranks growing up, but I don’t know if I’m familiar with that spell. I don’t think that song came out until after I graduated from Watford.”

“Baz tried all the regular spells to reverse it,” I add. “But none of them worked.”

Ebb hums. “Perhaps they weren’t strong enough when he cast them?”

Even though what Ebb is saying makes perfect sense, I want to defend Baz, for some reason. I try to sound calm when I reply, “No, I’m sure he cast them perfectly. He always does.”

I tell myself that I'm arguing with Ebb because I’m frustrated with the situation. Then I try not to stare at the pink that’s decorating Baz’s cheeks.

Ebb clears her throat, looking between us curiously. “Of course, this is young Master Pitch here, after all.” She gets up. “I’m sorry I couldn’t be of more help, boys. I’ve got to let the nannies in, if you’d like to help. I do know you enjoy it, Simon.”

I do, but right now I feel like I’m itching out of my skin. So I smile apologetically at Ebb. “Maybe another time. I think we’re going to hit the library, try to see if there’s anything in there that could help.”

She smiles and walks us to the door.

As we’re walking towards the drawbridge, I hear the roar of an engine and turn around just in time to see the Mage’s Range Rover pull up. I freeze, glancing at Baz, who also looks like he’s about to run for the hills. Before we can figure out what to do, the Mage steps out of his car and makes direct eye contact with me.

He looks like he’s seen a ghost.

_Oh, right. Baz and Headmistress Pitch._

Then he croaks out, “Lucy?” and looks like he’s about to cry. 

I just stare. This is the most emotion I’ve ever seen from the Mage. “Um, sorry Sir. It’s just Simon. And-and Baz. Basil.”

The Mage’s face schools into one of indifference and annoyance immediately. “Oh. Well. Simon, you ought to be able to reverse a simple pranking spell.”

I swallow the embarrassment that’s threatening to rise and call out, “I’m sorry, Sir - do you think you could help?”

“I’m sorry, Simon, I’m in a very great hurry. I’ve just come back to fetch something from my office.” He takes off at a quick clip towards the Weeping Tower.

I huff a sigh and slide down against the walls, feeling nearly like crying. It’s just been so long since I’ve seen the Mage, and I’ve disappointed him almost immediately. I try to steel myself before Baz sees.

To my surprise, he sits down next to me. “Snow. Would you like to go to the lake, perhaps? Just sit for a bit?”

I must look as shocked as I feel, because he huffs and looks away. “Never mind.”

“No, no. It’s okay. I do, actually.”

I just need to take a moment to calm down. It’s a lovely April day, and most of our classmates are home for Easter. The thought of walking into Watford now, even just to go to the library, or to find Miss Possibelf - I just don’t know if I could take everyone’s shock and disappointment. Not after that.

I stand up and hold an arm out to Baz. “Alright. Let’s go.”

He looks at my hand suspiciously and doesn’t take it. Instead he gets up gracefully all on his own.

We walk over to the lake in silence, broken only when I get an idea and tell Baz. “The Mage said it should be easy to reverse. A simple pranking spell. Why don’t you do it?”

Baz looks at me with what might be pity. “I don’t think the Mage was being accurate when he said that. Without a counter spell, we might just need to just...wait it out.” He scoffs. “And the library here is pathetic. I doubt we could find a counterspell even if there is one.”

I would protest, but I’m still cross with the Mage. So I flop down when we get to the lake and squint up at the blue, blue sky. 

Baz lays down next to me, a respectable distance away. I watch the clouds move and feel the pounding in my chest slow.

“Snow,” he says, not opening his eyes. “What in Merlin’s name was the Mage on about?”

I huff out a laugh. “About Lucy?”

He cracks one eye open and smiles crookedly. “He looked so upset.”

“Do you think,” I say, giggling, “that the Mage has a girlfriend?”

“And you apparently look exactly like her?” Baz is full on guffawing, and so am I.

It’s just so silly, all of it, everything about today. The spell and Ebb and the Mage. I can’t stop laughing and neither can Baz.

It feels like a weight is off my chest. (Not literally, unfortunately. Seriously, I’m never going to zone out during one of Penny’s nerdy rants again. She suffers too much already.) 

But everything suddenly feels light. Like I could just stay here, or float away. This is how it used to feel for me at Watford, I think. Like magic was wondrous and terrifying at every turn, and I was drunk off it.

When our laughter dies down, I turn to look at Baz. His eyes are closed again, though the sun is low on the horizon now. The light is setting his eyelashes aflame. (They’re even longer when he’s a boy.) His long hair is spilling across the grass. His uniform shirt has gotten untucked from his trousers and I can just see a hint of skin along his side. 

He’s the prettiest thing I’ve ever seen. And even I have to admit that though things have been especially _obvious_ today, I’ve noticed this about Baz before. The soft silk of his hair, especially when it’s wavy around his face. The piercing grey of his eyes, and the soft curve of his lips. The way his thighs ripple powerfully when he’s racing across the pitch. The glimpse of his stomach I’ve gotten a few times, when he jumps for a header or uses his shirt to wipe the sweat off his brow.

Crowley, I’m thick. I’m so bloody thick.

And because I can’t take it anymore, I hoist myself up on one elbow and kiss him.

**Baz**

My eyes fly open.

I’m being kissed. Someone is kissing me. Simon Snow is kissing me.

I panic wildly for a moment before pushing him off and sliding away.

He looks shocked and flushed and holds a hand up to his lips. “Oh, fuck, Baz. Shit. I’m so sorry.”

I feel like I’m going to cry. Like I’m so close and yet so far. I know he’s probably clueless and hormonal, and maybe this is just how straight boys are. But something twists in my chest at the thought that Simon could actually want me and care about me. But only like this.

“Hey. Look, I’m sorry. I...shouldn’t have done that.”

I raise an eyebrow and glower at him, swallowing my tears and dripping condescension. “Simon, I know you’re an idiot, so I’m going to spell this out for you. My name is Basilton Grimm-Pitch. I’m your roommate, and a _boy_. We hate each other, and I’m going to kill you one day. Just because I’m just as stunning when I’m a girl as when I’m a boy doesn’t mean we should shag.”

My face burns at the mention of shagging, but I don’t break eye contact. Simon looks at me carefully, like he’s thinking. That can never be a good sign, and I’m about to tell him so, but he speaks first.

“I shouldn’t have done that, Baz. But I wanted to. I really wanted to.”

I flush and turn away. He’s still going. Why is he still going? I consider jumping in the lake and drowning myself. Except I don’t think vampires can drown.

“I always want to,” he adds. I freeze. “Even when you’re a boy. Especially when you’re a boy. Because you’re - y’know. You.”

My undead heart is in my throat. This can’t be happening. I’m dreaming. Or Simon Snow is just even more of an idiot than I previously gave him credit for.

“Snow, you’re not going to think that when this spell wears off…”

He cuts me off with another kiss - a soft peck this time that leaves me shocked and breathless.

“Shut up, Baz. Of course I will. I always do. I’m honestly pretty obsessed with you.” He at least has enough sense in him to look embarrassed at that confession. “And yeah, I’ve been thick about it. But today has been properly educational.”

I swallow. He leans in closer, his breath ghosting against my ear. “So, can I kiss you again?”

I still don’t believe him, but we’ve kissed twice now and my brain has gone completely haywire. So I surrender myself to the cold whims of fate and turn my head to kiss him.

An electric shock pulses through my entire body as our lips touch. I’ve imagined this moment more times than I could count. Of course, I thought it would be bloodier, messier. That it would be our last kiss on the battlefield, or at least the product of some blowup that goes too far. Probably when we’re drunk at a party in uni. (I’ve thought about the specifics of these scenarios a little too much. Because I’m pathetic.)

The reality, however, is nothing like that. It’s full of all the joy of our laughter, of just sitting the grass together and being teenagers and being _alive_. Like there’s no one in the world except us, and nothing will ever come between us. I’m smiling impossibly wide, and so is he, when we finally break the kiss. 

The sun dips below the horizon, and suddenly we’re coughing, surrounded by smoke. 

**Simon**

I wave my hands about until the smoke finally clears. Sitting across from me is Baz. The regular Baz, the one that’s a boy.

He looks scared and unsure. For a moment I think it’s because he’s remembered that he’s not gay and doesn’t want to keep kissing me.

Then his eyes drop to my lips and his face twists like he’s in pain. I grab his hand as he tries to turn away.

I pull Baz back into a kiss. He freezes for a second, as if he’s going to protest, so I just kiss him harder. That makes him relax against my lips, and I hum happily.

I like that whatever stupid comment or dumb insecurity he has dies on my lips. That I can shut him up just like this, without my fists. That all these years of animosity and frustration have settled into this. Something that finally, perfectly makes sense.

We stay there, kissing, until it’s completely dark and getting chilly and we’re definitely going to have to spell the gate to let us back in. I stand up first and hold my hand out to Baz. This time he takes it.

He conjures up a small flame to light the way as we walk back up to the castle, our hands still clasped together. I keep stealing glances at him in the firelight.

I was wrong, I realize. Before.

This Baz - my Baz - is the prettiest thing I’ve ever seen.

  
  



End file.
